


The Foxes Hunt the Hounds

by SilverMyfanwy



Category: Percy Jackson and the Olympians & Related Fandoms - All Media Types, The Heroes of Olympus - Rick Riordan
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Medieval, Dead People, Dragons, Elves, Gen, Peasants, Rebellion, Rebels, Song Lyrics, Violence, tyrant
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-08
Updated: 2019-01-14
Packaged: 2019-10-02 01:34:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,994
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17255129
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SilverMyfanwy/pseuds/SilverMyfanwy
Summary: How Reyna became the leader of a peasants' revolt, as told by the elf that lives up the chimney.Inspired by Young Volcanoes by Fall Out Boy.





	1. Part One

**Author's Note:**

> I really have no idea how to describe this.

_Tonight the foxes hunt the hounds_

_It’s all over now_

_Before it has begun_

_We’ve already won_

_We are fighters_

-Young Volcanoes by Fall Out Boy

Hello! I am the Chimney Elf. I am _the_ Chimney Elf because I’m the only one. The only one in Reyna’s house, anyway. I have heard tale of houses with more than one chimney. That means more than one Chimney Elf! Can you imagine? More that one Chimney Elf! I haven’t yet decided it that would be a good thing or a bad thing, but- sorry. I’m getting off task. Yes Reyna! I’ll get on with the story!

Reyna, who I just mentioned, is the main character of the story. She’s responsible for the whole story, in a way.

Yes, Reyna, you are! Don’t deny it!

This story is about Reyna and how she accidentally became the leader of a revolution overnight.

You _were_ the leader! Now am I telling the story or are you?

Yes. I am.

Reyna, how do you want me to start it?

What do you mean I ‘already have’?

Well I know I’ve already started talking, but what I mean is-

Oh don’t glare at me! You wanted me to tell the story!

Apology accepted.

What I mean is how do you want me to introduce our world, what life was like at the start of the story.

However I want? Oh goody. Thank you Reyna!

Here we go!

Pay attention. I hope you’re sitting on a good chair, one with a comfortable edge, as you’ll be right on it in a moment or two.

Once upon a time, nineteen years ago, which I suppose doesn’t make it once upon a time after all.

Reyna, do you think I’d get in trouble if I started again?

Alright then.

Second time lucky.

If you don’t stop interrupting me, I’ll stop bothering and you can tell the story yourself while I’m sitting in my chimney and sulking.

_Thank_ you!

Nineteen years ago, some pompous prat decided to invade the bit of land me, Reyna and a bunch of other people live in. It’s quite a lot of people actually, as the whole region was taken over by a foreign lord on campaign on orders from his queen. The army that should have driven him off was busying fighting over a salt mine on the other side of the country, so we got taken over.

The invasion left many people and Chimney Elves dead, including Reyna’s parents. She was left in the care of Cousin Armastida, from Snowland.

Reyna is a peasant.

What? You are!

Of course I’m an elf!

It’s not an insult, but it is a fact! A simple fact of life. You are a peasant.

*giggle*

Why can’t I giggle? Of course I’m going to giggle! I just got to call you a peasant! He!

Ow! What was that for? Okay! Fine! Fine! I’ll get on with the rest of the story.

Why are you still glaring at me?

I promise I’m not going to call you a peasant again. Can I get on with the story now?

We live in Peasantland- yes, Reyna, l know it’s not officially called that, but it works because it describes where we live and it keeps our location anonymous.

Well, you might not mind if people start turning up to talk to me, and to you, of course, but I do. I like retaining the peace and tranquility of the local area- oh, I could get a job writing travel brochures!

*pause for meditation*

Let’s carry on.

The people who live in Peasantland work very hard. They are farmers and spend most of their lives bent over double in fields, planting or weeding or pulling out stones and the odd imp nest. They have to do this so that they can try and grow enough food not only to feed their families but also pay taxes to the Big Boss Octavian, who lives ten miles away in the big posh house and who owns lots and lots of land and lots and lots of houses that he rents out to the peasants, so they have to pay the rent as well. And most importantly of all, they have to be able to buy firewood so that in the winter they can light fires and create enough smoke and ash and yummy bits of charcoal for the Chimney Elves to feed upon, although I’m not really supposed to eat charcoal because it makes me vomit and the charcoal can be used to light fires again, so I get told off if I do things like that.

Doing all this in a dry place with bad soil (and it really is bad soil, because once a huge tongue grew up out of it and blew a raspberry meaning Reyna was washing spit out of her hair for weeks) is very hard work and Octavian is very mean. The peasants suffer a lot and so do the Chimney Elves, because sometimes Octavian demands that the Chimney Elves have baths because he doesn’t want dirty Chimney Elves living in the houses he owns.

They’re barely even houses, though. More like shacks with windows. We don’t have to worry about them getting washed away in a storm, because if there was a storm everyone would be so happy they would just move outside so that they could feel the rain and the wind and the cold. Personally, I’d probably be clinging to the inside of my Chimney as the shack blew around the countryside. I said people, not elves. Chimney Elves do not like wind or rain or cold. We like safety, stability and warmth; not being flung around in the air.

Also, when people finally did get fed up or being out in the rain getting soaked and that nasty thing called hypothermia, or is it frostbite? Well, anyway, they’d storm the manor house and kick Octavian out, although, to be honest, he’d probably have fled the storm to go somewhere nice and warm and dry. He’s sensible in that way.

Dragons fly over, sometimes.

Just thought I’d mention that.

One day, seventeen moons ago, some dragons flew overhead on the day when Octavian set the taxes. He took this as an omen to raise the taxes.

Then all hell broke loose.


	2. Part Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The revolution.

Part Two

Octavian, pompous as usual, couldn’t even be bothered to come and tell us the news himself. He sent one of his men, who was one of the supervisors that came and checked on the crops every so often to make sure that the ones that would be going to Octavian weren’t being filled with poison or toxic plants being mixed with the crops. He was generally disliked, but he was nowhere near as bad as some of the other people who worked for Octavian. He stood on a tree stump that someone had dragged outside one of the houses and said, rather sheepishly, with his hands behind his back, and looking firmly at his feet, that the taxes were going to be raised.

The villagers stood in silence, staring in shock at the supervisor. Some people started laughing at him.

“Yeah, right!” someone yelled.

The supervisor shook his head miserably. “No. It’s not a joke. Mr Severt is going to be raising the taxes. I’ll prove it to you.” he pulled out a piece of paper from inside his sleeve and held it out to the crowd. No one moved to take it.

“We can’t read, you numpty!” someone yelled. Everyone else nodded in agreement.

The supervisor read out what the piece of paper said. Then someone threw a rock at him. Rocks were all over the ground and other people started joining in. He was lucky to get away with his life that day, but it wasn’t long before he was found dead behind a pond with a spear through his chest pinning him down into the ground. Most of Octavian’s supervisors disappeared in some sort of strange accident, either because they’d legged it for another estate or they’d gone off to a heavenly or hellish death, because they’d been walking past the wrong people at the wrong time.

That’s the kind of thing that happens when you give angry people scythes and muscles.

It was a grim few months.

Everyone was angry, obviously. Reyna in particular. Despite there only being one of her, and her being the only human being in her hut, she still had to pay just as much in taxes as the family with six kids did. Obviously, she felt hard done by and that it was a matter of great injustice, which it was. She worked longer in the fields, spent longer praying to the rain spirits that they would behave themselves and spent less money on stuff so that she would have cash to spare for taxes if there weren’t enough plants to pay it all. She even made me and Carit, the blue sprite who lives in the beams of the roof, sell the pack of cards we played with. It was most morbid and truly miserable.

People tried to manage. They really, truly did, but then- oh hello Carit! I’m telling the story of when Reyna accidentally ended up leading the pitchfork rabble raid-

Oh why can’t I call it that? It’s a brilliant name and it sums it up so beautifully and concisely, I do think-

Fine. I won’t call it that. Have you got any ideas for a new name, Carit?

The honourable revolution?

Right.

That’s a- is any revolution honourable? This one certainly wasn’t.

Or was it?

You could probably have quite a long debate on that.

-

Carit and I had a debate.

We didn’t come up with an agreement.

Reyna said that I’m making this take far too long and a, I need to hurry up and b, I need to tell the story differently and stop getting distracted.

So here goes.

I’m starting again.

Once, or maybe twice- the records aren’t clear- a man with veins filled with perfume, a bed of purple and skin lavished in gold, silver and bronze looked down at the land he owned and the people who owned it, who he may as well have owned too, and wanted more of the marble under his feet and bubbles in his glass.

The man demanded more from the people, because he saw dragons fly over and he wanted more.

More fool him.

The people were angry, but their anger boiled away soon enough when they realised that he would not be changing his mind and that they had to get the elbow grease flowing.

They tried to provide what he asked for. They worked until their fingers bled and their backs broke and the skin on their necks cooked to a crisp but it still was not enough.

Then the man who owned all kicked out a family because he didn’t think they would be able to give him what he asked for. One morning they were there, the next they weren’t. It was a week before anyone managed to work out what had happened to them.

A gathering was called.

The people were not happy and they shared their anger between them, fueling a fire that culminated in someone else suggesting they burned the manor down and Reyna picking up a pitchfork and standing on a table-top.

“We riot at midnight.”

They did.

There were torches and pitchforks and spades and screaming and threats and they marched across the fields in the depth of night to the manor.

The guards were waiting for them.

The guards soon fled when they caught sight of Reyna’s eyes glinting in the torchlight. Octavian fled with them.

The manor was raided. Reyna got some money.

She’s leaving.

She promised to take us with her.

And _that_ is the story of how Reyna accidentally became the leader if a revolution.

THE END.

 

 


End file.
